


Tumblestone

by Nary



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Childhood, F/M, Inappropriate touching, Pre-Canon, Sisters, Swimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-06
Updated: 2011-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tumblestone was Catelyn's favourite, with its quiet pools interspersed with the little waterfalls that gave it its name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tumblestone

Catelyn loved the baths at Winterfell, with their steaming warmth even in midst of snow, but she missed bathing in the rivers at home, the Tumblestone and the Red Fork. The Tumblestone was her favourite, with its quiet pools interspersed with the little waterfalls that gave it its name. She and Lysa and Petyr would go there to swim together - Edmure would beg to come too, but he was still too young, or so their father would say. In truth, Catelyn thought that Lord Hoster was overprotective of his only son, for she and Lysa had gone swimming in the pools when they were Edmure's age, she was sure. But she hardly minded not having to look after her little brother on a fair, sunny day, but being able to simply immerse herself and relax.

The girls swam in their shifts, of course - even when they were children it would have been inappropriate for Petyr to see them unclothed - but Catelyn knew that wet linen hid little, and so she kept as low in the water as she could. Lysa, however, had no such modesty, and Petyr's eyes followed her as she jumped and splashed in the clear water, her form perfectly outlined beneath her sodden shift. "Come," Catelyn said, trying to calm her inappropriate frolicking, "let me comb your hair, Lysa."

Lysa joined her obligingly, the two of them sitting on the half-submerged flat rock they called the Table. Catelyn took her comb and began working it through Lysa's wet, tangled locks. Petyr swam a little longer, then waded over to join them, climbing out to lie behind Catelyn on the stone warmed by the sun.

At first she thought it was just the touch of the breeze, or her hair dripping as it began to dry. But soon she realized it was Petyr's hand on the small of her back, just where it emerged from the water. She stiffened slightly, hoping he would take the hint and stop, but he continued to stroke her over the damp shift, the fine linen barely a barrier between his skin and hers.

"Why did you stop?" Lysa asked, turning to glance at her sister.

Catelyn frowned. "You let it get so knotted, I can't pull the comb through it. You'll have to do it yourself, I'm afraid I'll hurt your head." And she slid out from between the two of them and into the water like a fish, glistening in the sun.


End file.
